My Prepubescent Heartbreak & The Aftermath
Recently I underwent a riveting revelation, which shook me - aka my previously ignorant conscious - to my very core. With the help of a good friend whom is extremely passionate and equally persistent in talking about emotions, I now fully grasp that the unavailable men I attract into my love life, are locked away into a metaphorically speaking unattainable "emotionally elusive land", because I "secretly like the chase" - words from my wise bestie.
I know, right. I said the same thing.
The years prior, I would mistake my custom of generously babbling, for an ability to lucidly communicate my feelings. My capacity to respond to an iMessage in less than 90 seconds, was mistaken for dependability and my adventurous attitude to "always be down" for "whatever" (meaning, anything and everything, anywhere) for an aptitude to play the role of a docile, submissive girlfriend. Thus giving myself a false impression which I was willing and able to partake in a committed relationship. In retrospect, I always had a very soft yet very nagging voice in the back of my mind, inquiring ever so often, "Why haven't you had a serious boyfriend since high school?", which I was superb at muzzling, until the voice got too insistent towards my withering will power. It needed to shut the fuck up. So I set bound to get to the bottom of this.
This would be a job for my Cancer best friend, who is notably my only cancer friend, and who, may I also note, very very VERY comfortable (and very good!) with talking about and displaying her emotions. Some may refer to this as "emotional intelligence". I say, emotionally intelligent is an understatement! She's an emotional superhero! Like the emotional super hero version of Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Cat Woman, and the Hulk, except not annoying.
I propositioned her to a casual lunch. She accepted. I subtly slide into our conversation that "I have so much on my mind lately", courteously warning her she would soon be asked to dissect my latest boy drama throughout the entirety of our lunch date. She responded with some blatantly mushy text about how she is "always here for me" and how much she "loves me" and then called me by a generic pet name. I shuddered at her willingness to immediately respond so loving and so warm.
Once at our meeting grounds, my attitude starkly swapped to indifference. I now wore a demeanor of "I'm way too cool to feel emotions." The mere thought that I was about to embark on an autopsy of my innermost feelings - WITH ANOTHER PERSON - made me endure my best defense mechanism, apathy. My non tangible emotionless mask-face would now conceal my anxiety-ridden face when my nerves embarrassingly took over. It slightly resembled a robotic human whom overdosed on her units of botox or doesn't believe in smiling, but it worked! So here I am, with my robot face on when my dreadfully gleeful best friend pops over, responding to my aloof face by asking what was "wrong".
What's WRONG! I whisper screamed at her, was that I was about to dish out my feelings to her. Being a water sign, who is excruciatingly "okay" with emotions, she just didn't get it.
She responded it wouldn't be "that bad". I baby barfed. I told her she had 3 seconds to sit the fuck down and close her mouth. I have a belief in never displaying my real feelings and I was about to do so in a public place. I was not about to let her scream, letting the entire restaurant know what was going down at our sanctuary (our booth) and then ruin this for me!
She changed her tactic, and took the casual route. "What's going on", she probed.
"It's about a boy", I answered with an eye roll at a poster of an oriental man shoving obscene amounts of pho into his mouth on the wall besides the soda fountain, while remaining committed to my avoidance in eye contact with her.
"What happened!" She switched right back and she dove right in. Of course. Our unofficial therapy session with her leading as my psychiatrist begun. I warned her that she doesn't have a license and to "not dare" diagnose me. "I won't!" Okay. Fine. I did not need any more convincing.
I admitted to her the latest object of my infatuation ignored me. Again. (He's a serial ignorer and I almost want to commend him on his tenacity in relentlessly leaving me on read. But having an average respond time of 2 iMessages per minute, I will never understand his fetish with abruptly leaving conversations.)
She spewed her usual Tumblr inspired quotes: "just get over him", "find somebody new" somebody who wasn't "so emotionally unavailable" because there's "soooooo many fish in the sea."
That wasn't going to happen! My stubbornness began to show as I responded to her with a solemn glare. However a little emotion began to leak via my own freaking face!
I plead to her, as I have in the past, that my biological father is emotionally, but more importantly, financially present.
Am I cursed? Or maybe the one hiccup on my fathers end when I was 8, before a family road trip, when he left me at the gas station and drove off. He came back 10 minutes later, exclaiming that if my brother didn't speak of my absence, that I would have been left there for ever. (This is also when I learned that men often suffer from bouts of selective amnesia, in which they solely forget about me for said period of time, and I would suffer the consequences)
She asked me to tell her about my first boyfriend. I laughed. Ha! What does my first love at the ripe age of 12 have to do with my inability to get Mr. Serial-Ignorer to pay me the attention that I so deserve! But being the overtly trusting person that I am, I decided to trust her. I knew she was going somewhere good with this information I would dish out to her and I wanted in on this ride.
It all started when I was 12 years old. He was two years older, making him 14. And, at the time, being even 6 months older instantly made a boy more tantalizing, as you would be instantly awarded bragging rights that "an older boy" liked you, if you were fortunate enough.
Up to this point, I dabbled in puppy love (geared towards Zac Efron, whom I crushed on hard and garnished my pre-teen room with posters of his half-naked body) and evenly trifled with flirting; I would occasionally share my chocolates with the cutest boy at the lunch table, who I deemed most worthy of my $3 chocolates, but that was about it.
Soon enough, I'd have my very own real life crush! (I didn't know this at the time).
As I embarked on the first week of my 7th grade year, I was pleased to fnd my assigned locker located in the Science building. This was a luxury, for these lockers were confined in an air conditioned space and also populated with the coolest of kids (Except me. I wasn't cool).
One afternoon, I began my routine fumbling of my textbooks into my locker then retrieving my stash of snacks, followed by a slamming of my locker door before its contents could spill out. Usually I would complete my walk of shame to the bus loop and board the horrid blue bus (my parents could not/would not commit to picking me up after school since they often forgot my existence).
Today was different.
After I slammed shut the locker door, once hidden behind, revealed a gorgeous green eyed boy, (who we will refer to as "green eyed boy" to protect his reputation (he doesn't even have one, I am too nice)) casually leaned up against the locker 3 doors down from my own. I stopped in my tracks. He was in cahoots with a mutual friend, who tried to talk to me. Staying true to my socially awkward style (in my defense he did catch me off guard) I managed to stutter gibberish at said mutual friend while green-eyed boy just stared at me drowning in discomfort, assuming my position of a chicken, with its head chopped off.
The mutual friend prevented my embarrassment from escalating by ignoring my subconscious efforts to sabotage my first impression by playing it cool and throwing a, "Hey Carly!", at me.
I deflected it then shuffled away.
I will cut to the chase, make a long story short, and save you the discomfiting details of the start of my juvenile tryst. Said mutual friend operated as me and green eyed boy's messenger pigeon, delivering our verbal messages to and forth for the month to follow (middle school me was weird). Once we decided we both had the courage to talk face to face, we simultaneously began dating too.
We underestimated our ability to dissolve our awkwardness. Our romance escalated at lightening speed and soon enough we became an inseparable battery pack! We were happiness in closest proximity to *only* one another. I would even chose his company over my own family.
We were in deep. We were determined to spend every waking minute in relevance to one another. We would spend lunch period, ignoring our lunches, and instead, eating each others faces. When lunch was over, he walked me to my home ec class, during which we held hands while the jealous girls would whisper in envy about me landing an "older boy" and our procedure ended with him kissing me goodbye. Throughout an average school day, we often dedicated two class periods, devising plans to steal the hall pass, meet up and make out for 5-10 minutes, he would escort me back to class, hand-in-hand, and we parted ways to gather at our lockers to repeat the episode evermore. We even called each other nightly "just to talk". About what? Anything, but usually, nothing.
Up until this point, I had never been emotionally involved with a boy. Although the opportunity to take my v card was never given to him (I was an infant), green eyed boy audaciously took it upon himself to snag my emotional innocence sans permission nor forewarning. Three months had gone by and in my blindly optimistic mind, we were only getting started. Unbeknownst to me, in his mind lay an entirely different story.
It just so happened that our closeness made him feel claustrophobic (really? how much independence was a middle schooler granted in the first place) and my enigma vanished (not as surprised). There was no where for him to go, as I grasped onto him too tightly, and nothing left for him to apparently "get to know about me". He was at a dead end and he wanted out. So he ended things.
The conversation which I endured my first crush, by my crumby first crush, went something along the lines of (bear with me, this happened 8 years ago):
me: hey babe! what's up?
him: thinking about us.
me: :') awww! what about us?
him: I don't think this is working.
me: what... do you... mean...
him: we don't have chemistry anymore?
me: what do you mean.
him: *no response*
I proceeded to run out of my Catechism class, as tears deluged my prepubescent face.
This was my prepubescent heartbreak.
"My mom resorted to a plate of chocolate that night because she was so hopeless in repairing my broken heart. AND I DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH IT!" I exclaimed to my friend.
"Wow", she said whilst nodding her head, eyes closed. "It all makes sense, Carly! Don't you see it!" Now excited, as if she cracked the da Vinci code. She threw her notepad and pen (the accessories used to dissect damage done by a 14 year old green-eyed boy) and divulged her theory.
"'Your FIRST boyfriend randomly broke up with you. He was the one who set the standards for all your other boyfriends. So you now you think being ignored is normal! You secretly like the chase."
As much as I wanted to reject her hypothesis, and continue to protest any inquiries about my current relationship status *single* on "God hating me" and "being hexed", she was right. She is right!
I reluctantly concurred.
Years upon years of thousands and thousands dollars wasted on esoteric psychologists, the best of the best, for my best friend, who is majoring in Advertising, to open the floodgates of my suppressions and help me realize and accept, romantically, I am an underdeveloped 12 year old who just wants her green-eyed boy to love her back. My worrying symptoms of sociopathy, my habitual pattern of artificially falling in and out of love with boys within a day span, and my unavoidable overwhelming attraction to all males who rebuff me, stems from green eyed boy's abrupt and impolite break up with my 12 year old self. So, thank you so v much green eyed boy, for the holes in my psyche, which I did not request, and trailed into my 20 twenty something year old love life.
To end this on a happy note.
I heard in a Kanye song, "hey, admitting is the first step. hey, ain't nobody perfect" Finding sentiment in all areas of life, regardless of the source, I took those verses to heart. If Kanye can rap about our shared flaws and confess admitting is the first step, then yes, do not fret my dear friends, so can I! I officially admitted my "problem" and begun my embarkment on a 12 step program towards romantic wholesomeness.
Update: I fumbled upon Facebook and search green eyed boys real name, which is Daniel Dunn*, to see what he ended up doing with his life. His last profile picture was from 2013. I was not satiated. I turned to Instagram to finish my investigative work. The last picture of his face, yet again, was sometime in 2012, the rest were pictures of car, and other memorabilia I could not care less about. So I immediately hit him with that unfollow and concluded, in hindsight, I am so v grateful he dumped me in 7th grade, ending all chances of our future. Or else I would probably be stuck with a boy who does not partake in social media.
*Yes, that is his real name. I know you are not reading this, Daniel, and will never read this, because you do not follow me on any form of social media, nor engage in any social media, because you are truly socially unevolved. However, if you are reading this, hello. hope you are great. and if you are not, oh well. If you would like the invoice of the bills from the years of therapy you caused me, my parents would be more than delighted to have them expedited to you. *12 year old me would be so proud of present-day me for publicly dragging 14 year old you!* (Should have #wifed me up) (But thank god you did not)